Heroes

Heroes. Real heroes. They don't wear capes. They can't defy gravity. They can't hold up a crumbling building with their bare hands but they will run into one to save what lives they can. And I haven't met one yet that has x-ray vision. The power they possess, however, is indeed superhuman. It is the power to hold back tears while doing CPR on a 3-year-old. It is the power to keep composure while holding a  bleeding man's head in your arms & making small talk to distract him from the pain that is his shattered body. It is the power to hold a grieving widower's hand and tell him the love of his life has breathed her last breath. It is the power to clean up vomit while talking to your partner about lunch plans. It is the power to function in a perpetual sleep-deprived state. It is the power to make a difference.

The real test of a hero's strength happens, not when the call comes in, or even while it is going on, but after it is over...after the adrenalin rush has dissipated. The time when they are expected to resume a "normal person's life". Normalcy is relative. Real heroes are not "normal" any more-so than they are "abnormal". They function in a little-known realm all their own.
I did not choose to be a hero. Somehow, it chose me. In spite of the fact that I joined the "real hero" ranks 8 years ago, I still cringe when I hear that title directed at me. I want my profession to be recognized and respected but I do not want recognition for what I do. (Although the occasional "thank you" is appreciated.) Henceforth, the long and the short of my subsequent ramblings is not to invoke awe but to cultivate an understanding of what real heroes deal with every day when they enter into the fray.